


Please Come Get Prince Charmless

by Melibe



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale and Beelzebub are drinking buddies, Crowley and Gabriel have nothing in common except their extreme discomfort with this situation, Dick Jokes, Dick measuring contest, Drunk Texting, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, Heaven, M/M, Multi, Nonbinary Beelzebub (Good Omens), Other, Tequila, Texting, They/Them Pronouns for Beelzebub (Good Omens), implied BDSM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:33:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23659918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melibe/pseuds/Melibe
Summary: Gabriel's new phone has a text-to-speech feature! It's bad enough when messages from "Beelzebabe" get read aloud during all-archangel meetings, but a message from "Aziraphale's trash demon" is going to be the real problem.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Beelzebub (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Beelzebub/Gabriel (Good Omens), Crowley/Gabriel (Good Omens), Dagon/Uriel (Good Omens), Hastur/Ligur/Michael (Good Omens)
Comments: 43
Kudos: 160





	Please Come Get Prince Charmless

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheFallenCaryatid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFallenCaryatid/gifts), [Euny_Sloane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Euny_Sloane/gifts).



> This is entirely the fault of the Ineffable Bureaucracy discord server, an endless source of laughter, comfort, and lewd emojis in these trying times. Bless you all.

“Incoming text from Beelzebabe. Read?”

The four archangels seated in Heaven’s expansive meeting suite all blinked in surprise at the sound of the pleasant, monotone female voice interrupting their conversation. No one was more surprised than Gabriel, who took a few seconds to recognize it as the new read-aloud feature on his phone.

The phone was currently in one of his pockets, or maybe his briefcase. Why couldn’t he find the damn thing? “No, don’t read, stop,” he said as he fumbled for the device, but it was too late.

“Text message,” read the gentle monotone. “Hey. Hey.”

Whew. That was innocuous, especially for the Lord of the Flies. Gabriel finally located the phone in the pocket of his jacket, hung over the back of his chair. He was just about to silence it when the voice announced again, “Incoming text from Beelzebabe. Read?”

Before Gabriel could say, “No,” Sandalphon cut in with “Yes, please read.” 

Gabriel glared, and Sandalphon smiled widely. “It could be important. You should find out.”

“Text message,” the soft pleasant voice read aloud. “Where are you, dickwings? I’m bored and horny.”

Gabriel jabbed viciously at the phone to turn it off. He cleared his throat and returned to the meeting’s agenda, trying to ignore Michael’s and Uriel’s unamused stares, as well as Sandalphon’s very amused leer.

Gabriel made a mental note to disable that new feature. It was clearly the work of the devil.

*

“Uriel, there are teeth marks on your neck. _Again._ ”

Gabriel walked into the meeting room to see Michael frowning at Uriel with her powers of infinite disapproval.

Uriel’s voice was cool, although her golden freckles glowed more brightly than usual. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

“It’s obscene, and I have to look at it.” Michael folded her arms, but her expression softened fractionally. “You know, you don’t have to let her bite you just because she’s a demon.”

“I never _let_ her do anything,” Uriel snapped back.

“All right!” said Gabriel loudly, dropping a stack of papers on the table to redirect the conversation. “Let’s review our quarterly goals, shall we?”

They were nearly done with the review, and Gabriel was feeling quite cheerful, when a flat but pleasant robotic monotone interrupted again.

“Incoming text from Aziraphale’s trash demon.” Gabriel froze. Was it possible? Somehow, with all the paperwork to take care of, he’d forgotten to disable that feature. And now _Crowley_ of all people was messaging him.

“Read text?”

“Oh, for Heaven’s sake, NO--”

“Text message: Please come pick up Prince Charmless, they’ve got my angel completely soused and won’t stop comparing our dicks.”

“Stop, no, STOP,” exclaimed Gabriel, grabbing for the phone (at the bottom of his briefcase this time) and trying frantically to switch it off.

Uriel stared at him, wide-eyed, while Sandalphon studiously rearranged the papers on the table. Michael, meanwhile, squeezed her eyes shut and massaged her temples.

“Sorry about that!” Gabriel pushed aside his mortification and struggled to regain control of the situation. “Funny things, phones, aren’t they? Thought I’d turned that feature off, ha, ha, anyway, let’s get on--”

“Can’t anyone in this office be _discreet_?” Michael burst out, lifting her head to glare first at Uriel, then Gabriel. “Don’t _any_ of you know how to keep your demons on leash?”

“Well,” said Gabriel. “I mean. Every situation is unique--”

“Look, I’ve got extra. Leashes, that is.” Michael narrowed her eyes and made a circle with her thumbs and forefingers, as though trying to measure something from memory. “You’ll probably want a custom collar, though.”

Gabriel didn’t answer right away, his mind (and parts of his body) too busy working on the implications of Michael’s statement. Beelzebub’s neck _was_ rather slender, and he didn’t imagine that anything Michael kept on hand for Hastur or Ligur would fit them. What would the Lord of the Flies do if he tried to put a collar on them? Would it end up jammed around his neck instead? And wasn’t _that_ an interesting thought?

“Incoming text from Aziraphale’s trash demon,” his phone chirped again.

“Oh God,” said Gabriel, which didn’t count as blasphemy because it was an actual prayer. He tried to put his jacket in his pocket and his phone over his shoulders. “I have to go. Great work everyone, great meeting! Stay holy!”

As he raced for the escalator, he heard Uriel inquire, “Do you have any leashes in aquamarine?”

*

“I told you not to let them get this drunk again.” Gabriel stood in the doorway to the bookshop’s back room, surveying the damage.

“Have you _met_ either of these two shit-faced bastards?” asked Crowley wearily. He sat on the floor, leaning against a bookshelf, his hair sticking up in all directions as if he’d been pulling on it. “Do you even _know_ Beelzebub?”

“He does,” giggled Aziraphale, who filled his armchair as if he’d been poured into it. He looked to be about 90% alcohol and 10% halo. “Biblically.”

“ _Angel_ ,” groaned Crowley, letting his head thunk back against the shelf.

“Dickwingzz! You came!” yelled Beelzebub from the couch. Sort of from the couch. Their legs were up over the backrest and their head was hanging off the front, upside-down. Their jacket and waistcoat were long gone, their shirt was half-unbuttoned and untucked from their pants, their feet were bare and they were wearing their fishnet socks on their hands, one of which was somehow holding a tequila bottle upright.

“Well, I guess you didn’t come yet,” they amended. “I c’n fix that.” They snickered, and performed a complicated maneuver to pour tequila into their upside-down mouth.

Aziraphale giggled again, then blushed and tried to collect himself. “Gabriel. Would you.” He blinked carefully up at Gabriel, having lost his train of thought. He frowned and looked around until his eyes landed on the glass in his own hand.

“Oh!” He turned back to Gabriel with a smile. “Would you . . . drink a like?” Then he shook his head, as if he sensed that something hadn’t been quite correct, but it was going to be a major project to figure out what.

Gabriel sighed. “I don’t sully the temple of my body--”

“Get over here, big boy, and I’ll sully it for you.” Beelzebub wiggled their eyebrows at him, which looked weird upside down.

“Will you please get them out of here,” begged Crowley, hands churning his hair again. “I don’t know how long this has gone on. I came in two hours ago, and they’d already drunk the Gran Patrón _and_ the Asombroso’s. They’re making Aziraphale act even more ridiculous than usual, they keep asking to see my cock for a ‘direct comparison’ and,” his voice rose in a plaintive whine, “ _they’re on my couch_.”

“My dear, I’ve invi-invitat- told you to come sit with me. More’n once now.” Aziraphale patted his thighs and smiled soppily at Crowley, whose face turned as red as his hair. He made some impossible noises, then muttered, “Not while they’re here, angel. It’s too--ugh. Ngk.”

“Go onnnn, serpent, slither over to’m,” slurred Beelzebub. “Then ‘Ziraphale can feel the goods. And now dickwings is here--” they waved clumsily to Gabriel, who had a sinking feeling he knew where this was going.

Crowley shot him a desperate, pleading look, and Gabriel decided. There was a time to love, a time to hate, and a time to scoop up the Lord of the Flies and throw them over his shoulder, fishnet-sock-gloves, tequila, and all.

“What th’fuck? Can’t leave, haven’t measured yet,” complained Beelzebub, kicking him in the nose with astonishing accuracy.

“Ow,” said Gabriel, attempting to get the prince’s flailing legs under control.

“Here.” Crowley snatched Beelzebub’s sash from the floor and tossed it up to Gabriel, who quickly wrapped it around Beelzebub’s ankles. He expected a furious struggle, but they just laughed and smacked his ass. With the tequila bottle. It hurt.

“Right, let’s go,” he said, scooping up their jacket and shoes with his free hand. “Nice to see you, Aziraphale. Can’t say the same, Crowley. Now--”

"Wait! Need a ruler," Beelzebub mumbled blearily over his shoulder. 

"What was that?"

"Mnnnneed a ruuuler," they giggled.

"Why do you need a rul--"

"Don't ask!" said Crowley urgently.

Beelzebub giggled again. "For your cock!"

Gabriel discovered that his face could get even hotter than it had during the meeting in Heaven. “Yeah, we’re not doing that,” he managed to get out.

Crowley caught Gabriel’s eye and mouthed the words _Thank you_.

“You’re welcome.” Gabriel figured someone else must be using his voice, because what the absolute fuck was going on? He had to get out of here.

He had just made it to the door, Beelzebub still trying to drink from their bottle while hanging upside down, when Aziraphale announced in a loud, cheery voice, “Did you know that Gabriel's dick is almost exactly the same length as your own, darling?"

It was impressive how fast Gabriel could run with a sozzled demon slung over one shoulder.

*

Michael strode down the celestial corridor to collect overdue reports from the Seraphim, still shaking her head over her colleagues’ utter lack of discretion. And even worse, their lack of _control_. They were archangels, for Heaven’s sake--God’s own elite warriors--and yet they couldn’t keep one demon at a time in line. What a deplorable failure of discipline.

At least Uriel was open to reasonable suggestions. With a bit of coaching, she’d certainly be able to bring Dagon to heel. Gabriel, on the other hand, was a hopeless cause.

Michael’s thoughts drifted to her own pets and, although she didn’t perform a conscious act of summoning, the phone in her pocket buzzed. (It was kept sensibly on vibrate.)

 **Ligur:** Hey soldier. What’s the battle plan?

 **Michael:** 9pm. I’m expecting you both at our usual spot.

 **Ligur:** We’ll be there.

 **Hastur:** HE’LL be there. I’m busy.

 **Michael:** No you’re not.

 **Hastur:** Yes I am.

 **Ligur:** I want the blue leash this time.

 **Michael:** I lent it out. You can have green.

 **Hastur:** Fuck off, the green one’s mine.

 **Ligur:** Thought you were busy.

 **Hastur:** Not anymore.

 **Michael:** XO

Smiling, Michael tucked her phone away and picked up her pace. She'd have to take care of these reports quickly, so she could get ready for tonight. Demon lovers were _so_ high maintenance.

But worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> "Soldier" as a term of endearment was seekwill's brilliant idea. The whole "text-to-speech" prompt came from TheFallenCaryatid, who along with Euny contributed significantly to the content of this fic, including more dick jokes than I felt I could squeeze in. Sorry and thank you.


End file.
